"Merritt Hosfield?" Joanna was puzzled. "I don't remember Sonja Hosfield mentioning a child by that name."

"Ryan Merritt," Eddy returned. "Lindsey Hosfield was all screwed up when she left Alton. Took back her maiden name when she got a divorce and changed the kids' names, too. Changed them legally. That's the kind of thing women do sometimes when they're really mad."

As the connections came together, Joanna's neck prickled with hair standing up under her collar. Ryan Merritt! She remembered meeting Alton Hosfield's son Ryan two days ago. He had given the impression of being a fine, upstanding, hardworking young man. She remembered the polite way he had doffed his hat upon being introduced to her.

But what if that politeness is all facade? she wondered. What if a cold-blooded killer lurks behind those clear blue eyes?

Joanna held out her hand. "I want your badge, Mr. Sandoval," she said. "Your badge, your gun, and your ID. As of this moment, you're on administrative leave. Hand them over."

Sandoval drew back in surprise. "Wait a minute, Sheriff Brady. You can't do that."

"Yes, I can. Watch me. I don't know about criminal charges. Right now you're out pending the formality of a dismissal hearing. You're to drive your county-owned vehicle back to your house and park it. I'll send someone out there later on this afternoon to pick it up."

Eddy hesitated, then grabbed his badge and wrenched it off his uniform. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his ID holder and slammed both of them down with a blow that sent dishes skittering across the table. The gun he slapped into Joanna's outstretched hand.

"There! Are you satisfied now?" he demanded furiously. "But you're not going to be able to nail me on any of this, Sheriff Brady. You never read me my rights. My attorney wasn't present during questioning. You won't be able to use a single word I said against me."

The old Joanna might have been intimidated by Eddy's show of physical force. The new one held her ground.

"Maybe," she replied, keeping her eyes focused on his florid face while she gathered up his credentials and weapon and shoved them into her purse. "But I don't think I'll have to stoop to that. I'm betting there are plenty of other irregularities that'll turn up in this sector, and I can assure you, Mr. Sandoval, I'm not going to rest until I find them."

Back in the Blazer, Joanna gripped the steering wheel with both hands and wondered what to do next. She opted final for calling the department. "Who's in?" she asked Kristin

"Nobody. Chief Deputy Montoya expected to be back l now, but the lady he was supposed to get to send to Tucson wouldn't go. He's been stuck at her house all afternoon."

"And not very happy about it, either, I'll bet," Joanna surmised. "Can we raise him on the radio?"

"I can't," Kristin said, "but I'm sure Dispatch can."

"Never mind," Joanna said. "I'm already as far as Benson. I can be in Pomerene by the time Dispatch gets us linked together. There are twothings I need you to do forme. Number one, send a deputy over to Eddy Sandoval‘s place to pick up his cruiser. Then tell the patrol duty officer that Sandoval is off the roster until further notice."

"All right. Anything else?"

"Yes. Ask the records clerk to run a check on someone named Ryan Merritt. I don't have a date of birth, but he’s probably around twenty or so."

"Just here in Cochise County?" Kristin asked. "Or do you want a statewide check?"

The very fact that Kristin had asked the question was a sign that she was becoming more savvy. In the early days of Joanna's administration, the recently elected sheriff and her newly assigned secretary had been at loggerheads more often than not. Now Joanna sometimes found herself wondering if Kristin Marsten had actually grown that much smarter in the intervening months or if the changes in Kristin were a reflection of changes in Joanna herself.

"I'm glad you asked, Kristin," Joanna said. "A statewide check is what I need."

"Do you have an address?"

"No. He's currently living on the Triple C spread up in Cascabel. That address would be somewhere on Pomerene Road, although I can't give you the exact number. Before that, he most likely lived somewhere else. Try the Phoenix metropolitan area or maybe even Tucson."

"Do you want me to call you back on this, or can it wait until you get into the office?"

"Call me back," Joanna said. "I need the info ASAP."

Leaving Benson, Joanna drove straight to Sarah Holcomb's house in Pomerene. She found Chief Deputy Montoya dozing in the shade of one of Sarah's towering cottonwoods. Frank might have tried to convince Kristin that he was suffering, but in actual fact, it was clear to Joanna that he was being treated like an honored guest. An old Adirondack chair and matching footstool had been moved from the elderly woman's covered back porch to the shady front yard, along with a small wooden table. On the table sat a metal tray laden with napkins, a tall ice-filled glass, a generous pitcher of iced tea, and a platter of cookies.

Joanna parked the Blazer and went over to where he was sitting. "Hey, Frank," she said. "Wake up. No fair sleeping on the job."

He came to with a start. "I wasn't really sleeping," he said. "Just resting my eyes."

"Sure you were. I thought you were supposed to be guarding her. As in making sure nobody comes anywhere near her."

"I am," he said. "Nobody can get past me."

"I almost did," Joanna told him. "And what's the deal with all the cookies and the iced tea? I've interviewed this woman twice so far, and she's never offered me so much as a piece of gum."

Frank shrugged. "What can I tell you? Sarah must like me."

"Did you bring the yearbooks?"

"Yes," he said. "We've already been through all of them. We did that over lunch, to no avail. She claims she didn't recognize anybody."

"Where are they?"

"The yearbooks?"

Joanna nodded.

"In the back of my car," Frank said. "If you want to see them, I'll be glad to go get 'em." He headed for his Crown Victoria, his Civvy, as he affectionately called it.

Through overuse compounded by an error in purchasing, the Cochise County Sheriff's Department was long on Crown Victoria-type cruisers and short on four-wheel-drive vehicles. Because his position as chief for administration called for very little field work, Frank now drove one of the Ford sedans despised by the other deputies. With some money and a little technical know-how, Frank Montoya had managed to turn his departmental Crown Victoria into a credible mobile office.

"Here we are," he said, putting the books down on the table. "Eight yearbooks in all. hour from St. David and four from Benson."

Taking the top book off the Benson pile, Joanna quickly thumbed through it, checking each class listing for Ryan Merritt. "Are you looking for someone in particular?" Frank asked when she finished thumbing through the first book and started on the second.

"Yes," she said. "His name's Ryan Merritt. He's Alton Hosfield's son, Sonja's stepson."

"If you don't mind a little help," Frank suggested, "we can probably hurry this job along."

There was only one unchecked yearbook remaining, the last one from St. David, when Joanna's cell phone crowed. As she juggled it out of her purse, Frank made a face.

"You're the sheriff," he said. "Couldn't you find a ring that sounds a little more dignified?"

Joanna ignored the gibe. "Yes," she said into the phone. "What do you have for us, Kristin?" Seconds later, she held the phone away from her mouth. "Don't you have a mobile fax rigged up in your Civvy?"

"Sure do," he said. "It's hooked up to a slick little laptop."